


Ghost Hugs

by njw



Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Clairvoyant Tim Drake, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Seriously They're Like 12 in This, Supernatural - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, canonical character deaths, dicktimweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21888910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njw/pseuds/njw
Summary: Finally, Tim’s right on the edge of the stands, close enough that if he called out, the paramedics would probably hear him. Instead, he waits until the ghost of Dick Grayson looks up. The other boy is rubbing at his eyes and sniffling miserably as he watches them take his mother away, her glorious auburn hair now covered in a crisp white sheet. His own body is already long gone, having been hurried away first, and the earthly remains of his father are on another stretcher in the back of an ambulance, barely visible through the circus tent’s main entrance.Tim edges slightly to the right to put himself in Dick’s line of sight, then gives him a little wave. “Hey there,” he whispers.Looking slightly dazed, Dick waves back.*For thetumblr Dicktim weekday seven free prompt (I went with supernatural).
Relationships: Tim Drake/Dick Grayson
Series: Dicktim Week Prompt Stories [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571443
Comments: 60
Kudos: 419
Collections: Dick Tim Week 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enormous thanks to Salazarastark and Themandylion for the superlative beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

Tim leans forward and grins, practically vibrating off the edge of his seat in excitement. He can’t believe he’s actually watching the Flying Graysons perform. Their posters have decorated the walls of his bedroom for years, ever since the first time Haly’s Circus was supposed to come through Gotham. The show was cancelled, but a much smaller Tim had already seen some promotional clips of a young Dick Grayson doing a tumbling routine, and was enthralled. He’d watched endless recordings after that, begged for and been granted gymnastics lessons himself, and then spent the next four years collecting posters and watching recordings of the older boy—now a world-famous athlete, just like his parents.

Dick Grayson is almost as big a hero to him as Batman. If Tim could fly and tumble as well as the acrobat, he’d be _way_ better at following the Gotham vigilante around at night to take pictures of his feats of heroism.

The acclaimed entertainers are finally doing their famous show right in front of him, and it’s _incredible._ Their graceful forms arc and flip as they trace graceful parabolas through the air, coming together and separating again in a wonderfully choreographed performance of exceptional acrobatic strength and artistry. Everything’s moving so fast, he can barely follow the movements even though he’s studied their routines and knows exactly what they’re doing.

 _This is so cool! That’s Dick Grayson up there, and he_ hugged me. _He smiled at me, and called me Timmy, and I think he really meant it when he said he’d do the quadruple tonight, just for me._

He hears his parents chuckle behind him, whispering something and then laughing softly. He’s pretty sure they’re amused by his enthusiastic reaction to the show, but he doesn’t turn around to get confirmation. He’s afraid if he tears his eyes away from the action for even a moment, he might miss Dick Grayson performing the quadruple flip.

Getting to meet the star performers just before the show was an incredible experience, and Tim’s still not quite sure he believes it happened. Dick— _Dick Grayson!_ The best young acrobat in the world, and one of only three people who can do a quadruple flip!—gave him a hug. It’s entirely possible he hasn’t stopped grinning from that moment until now. Both families had even posed for a group portrait together, which he’s definitely planning to have framed later so he can display it proudly in his room.

 _This is the most amazing night of my life,_ he thinks, a breathless grin on his face. He can’t believe they finally got to go to the circus. He’s spent the past few weeks worrying that Haly’s Circus will experience travel delays and end up cancelling the Gotham show again, just like what happened the last time they were supposed to come to town back when Tim was only four. It doesn’t matter, though. The Circus is here now, and so are the Flying Graysons.

As Tim watches, starry eyed, Dick Grayson smiles charmingly down at the crowd, then swings out on the trapeze. Letting go at the apex of the swing, he folds his body neatly and flips—once, twice, three and then four times. The crowd roars, and it takes Tim a minute to realize he’s applauding right along with them, calling Dick’s name and cheering wildly.

It’s amazing. Watching the unbelievable physical coordination and dexterity shown by the other boy, only three years older than Tim himself, has his heart pounding. His eyes stay on Dick as the boy lands safely on a platform while his mother waves at the crowd, then swings out again. She flips through the air, catching her husband’s hands and then releasing in another flip, letting him catch her again by her bent knee and hip, one leg extended gracefully. Dick moves to the edge of the platform, catches hold of the trapeze, and then swings out to meet his parents. They swing back toward him, and Mary Grayson beams as she reaches her hands out to catch her son.

Tim’s still looking at Dick the moment he lets go of the trapeze, tumbling through the air and reaching his arms out to take his mother’s hands. So he sees with perfect clarity the expressions of horror on both their faces when the cable on the overloaded trapeze gives, jolting John and Mary. He sees the moment of realization and terror as they all start to fall. Sees the way Mary manages to catch hold of Dick in midair, and then she and John twist themselves around to try to protect their son by shielding him with their bodies before they hit the ground.

It doesn’t seem real at first, like time is suspended for an endless moment before everything comes crashing down.

“No! Oh god, _no!”_ Tim leaps to his feet, screaming denial. This can’t be real. It has to be a nightmare. Nothing so horrible could happen to such kind people, could it? The din of the crowd pounds in his ears and he can’t breathe. He feels trapped, unable to move or do anything to help as he stares at the three forms, lying so terribly still on the ground in the center of the ring. John’s on the bottom, having tried to break the fall for his wife and child. Dick’s lying on top of his mom, with her arms wrapped around him like she wanted to hold him close to the last. Tim stares, and it _hurts,_ an ache so deep and awful he can’t seem to draw a full breath as they continue to lie there, motionless. The horribly wet thump that accompanied their landing keeps echoing in his ears. Why aren’t they moving? Dick and his mom didn’t take the brunt of the fall—shouldn’t they be moving?

Tim doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels his mother’s gentle arms gather him close, her hands brushing the tears off his face. “I know, darling, I know,” she murmurs, voice rich with sympathy and sorrow. She draws him onto her lap and rocks him in a way she hasn’t since he was a much younger child. “Jack—”

His dad is staring down at the scene of the accident. Circus personnel are beginning to approach the still forms which lie there like broken dolls. There are still spotlights trained on them, as though even now they’re still the main attraction. It’s surreal, macabre in a way that no one seems quite sure how to deal with. “Are you sure, Jan?” Jack frowns, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from where the paramedics are carefully lifting Dick off of his parents and placing him on a stretcher. Tim can barely see through the tears, but he can tell by the size of the body that it’s Dick. He turns away, hiding his face in his mom’s shoulder. “If you think any of them are going to manifest, shouldn’t we stay?”

Janet Drake shifts slightly, probably following his gaze, and her breath catches on a small, hurt-sounding, “Oh.”

Tim blinks his vision clear and sniffs, trying hard to calm his shuddering body so he can see again, too. After all, there’s only one reason his mom would react quite like that. He rubs an arm over his eyes, then turns to look, bracing himself for whatever he’s about to see. Sometimes the recently manifested aren’t very pretty, reflecting the pain and shock of their deaths as a grisly appearance in their ghostly forms. Well, it can’t be worse than some of the other things he’s seen over the years. Focusing on the figures down below, he searches for the one that isn’t quite right—and there it is.

It’s Dick.

Tim isn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. It would be best if none of the Graysons had manifested, honestly, because that would mean they were all at peace, but maybe Tim will be able to help more because the one who needs them is Dick. They had the strongest connection in life, after all, being close in age, and having hit it off pretty well in the few moments they spoke together. The other boy was so kind and friendly, even though Tim was just some kid who idolized him.

His heart twists, thinking of Dick’s cheerful smile. He deserved so much better than a sudden, senseless death. But if he’s stuck now, unable to find peace and follow his parents to whatever comes after, then at least the Drakes can try to help him release his earthly cares and cross over.

_Oh, Dick, I’m so, so sorry. But don’t worry, Mom can help you move on. Probably. After all, it’s what she does._

Unfortunately, the Drakes can’t just walk down to the center ring and talk to the ghost. They have to wait around for a while, which is awful. Poor Dick looks so lost and sad down there, arms hugging his chest as he stares at his parents’ motionless forms while the paramedics prepare to remove them.

Tim tugs at his mom’s sleeve. “Can’t we…?” He glances back down at the ghost boy. It feels wrong to leave him alone right now, with no one around him but strangers and the dead.

She sighs, looking regretful. “I’m sorry, darling, but the last thing we need is to arouse the interest or suspicion of anyone here. Talking to someone nobody else can see is an excellent way to find oneself involuntarily committed, as your Great Aunt Agatha discovered to her detriment. No, we must wait until the paramedics and onlookers have left before we approach the poor child.”

Her face twists, probably at the reminder that the ghost they’re discussing is another boy not much older than Tim himself. Jack pulls her into his arms and rubs her back, whispering soothingly to her.

It’s the perfect opportunity to slip away. Most of the crowds have left, shaken by the tragedy, and only scattered groups still remain. Some seem ghoulishly curious, others sorrowful or too distressed at the tragedy they witnessed to leave just yet. He passes more than one sobbing person being comforted by those around them.

Finally, he’s right on the edge of the stands, close enough that if he called out, the paramedics would probably hear him. Instead, he waits until the ghost of Dick Grayson looks up. The other boy is rubbing at his eyes and sniffling miserably as he watches them take his mother away, her glorious auburn hair now covered in a crisp white sheet. His own body is already long gone, having been hurried away first, and the earthly remains of his father are on another stretcher in the back of an ambulance, barely visible through the circus tent’s main entrance.

Tim edges slightly to the right to put himself in Dick’s line of sight, then gives him a little wave. “Hey there,” he whispers.

Looking slightly dazed, Dick waves back.

* * *

Janet stands in the doorway to the library and sips a cup of excellent black tea, watching her son entertain their new guest. Dick Grayson was a handsome child, with vivid dark blue eyes, golden olive skin flushed with health, and wavy hair as dark as her own son’s. He’s still a fine-looking boy, even in his somewhat transparent state, handsome with a natural charm that comes through even though he hasn’t quite mastered projecting his will enough for audible speech yet. He’s kind as well, listening to Tim prattle on about his photography and showing interest in the various photos her son has taken of the family and estate.

_I wonder…_

She watches as Tim eyes the other boy carefully, gaze darting to the glistening, opalescent tracks of tears still visible on his face. After a moment of quiet regard, he smiles gently and asks if Dick would like to see the rest of his photograph collection. He’s doing a wonderful job of putting the ghost at ease, creating a sense of normality and safety the recently deceased so desperately need in order to be able to make sense of their own state and, eventually, realize and communicate exactly what they need so they can move on. This is the first time she’s allowed him to interact with such a recent ghost. Usually, anyone she introduces him to is much further along in the process. It’s impressive to see how well he’s managing.

The boys dart past her, one tangible and one not, and she hears Tim continuing to chatter to his new friend as they move up the stairs and, presumably, to his room. Jack approaches after they’re gone, not having wanted to crowd the poor child with so many strangers at such a sensitive time. “Well? Any luck?” The expression of concern and slight bafflement on his handsome, good-natured face reminds her once again that he can’t see the dead like she and Tim can.

“Oh, it’s going quite well, really,” Janet says, raising one eyebrow as she considers the notion which occurred to her as she watched her son talking to the ghost child. “Timothy is doing wonderfully. I think he may be ready to handle this one on his own, actually.”

Jack’s brows fly up and he spins on his heel to look toward the staircase, as though trying for a glimpse of the children. “What, really? Our little boy? Janet, are you sure?”

She laughs at his reaction. “Don’t fret, darling, I’ll be right there every step of the way to help. It isn’t as though I’m tossing him into a truly dark case, or one with the least hint of anything dangerous. Why, the boy died in an accident, not a murder or anything as grisly as what we’ve run into on some of our digs.”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Well, you know best when it comes to spirits, of course.” He continues with a thoughtful expression. “I suppose we’ll have to postpone the Mesopotamian dig a while, eh?” He brightens slightly. “Get to have the holidays at home for once.”

The pull of duty toward spirits longing for their rest will grow quite strong if she resists it for that long, but—she really does need to be here for Tim, to guide him through his first attempt to bring a spirit peace. And the idea of spending so much time with her whole family at home is enticing. “Yes,” she decides, laughing as Jack draws her into his arms with a broad grin, “that sounds like quite the best plan.”

 _The rest of the spirits will have to wait,_ she thinks, watching as Tim troops down the stairs again. It seems he’s managed to help set the ghost even further at ease, because he’s audible now. Dick floats through the air, doing flips and tumbling as he follows the living boy. They are chattering back and forth about—oh dear, teaching _Tim_ to do flips? Well, that will be interesting—and she knows she’s made the right choice.

_It will be quite fascinating to see what comes of this._

Mind awhirl with plans, she turns back to her husband. “Shall we follow them?”

He looks mildly anxious as he edges after the boys. “Did Tim just say something about flips off the _chandelier?”_

Good heavens. She hadn’t quite caught _that_ part of their boyish plans. Janet takes Jack’s arm and begins following the children at a rather brisker pace than she might otherwise have chosen. “I think things are about to become considerably more interesting around here.” She tries, but can’t quite suppress a little smile when they enter the foyer and find _Dick_ is the one doing flips off of the chandelier while Tim watches safely from the floor.

“Hi Mom,” he says. “Dad. Isn’t he amazing?” He rubs his eyes, looking quite tired, poor boy, then turns back to resume watching Dick’s antics with an expression of sheer delight. Jack laughs and goes to stand beside Tim, asking him to describe what his friend is doing. He does so with alacrity, and the ghostly performer responds by cartwheeling and tumbling across the foyer, only passing through a couple of items of furniture in his excitement.

Another mild worry begins to grow in the back of Janet’s mind as she watches the boys play.

_Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of that—but if they become friends, whatever are we going to do when Timothy must say goodbye?_

Well, she and his father will be there for him. If necessary, they can delay their trip longer, or even take Tim along with them, though she hates the idea of putting him in potential danger. Anyway, perhaps Dick will pass over easily and leave them soon, before Tim grows too attached.

Watching them play and chatter together, she has a strong feeling that it’s already too late.

Seeing how happy they are and how well they seem to get along, it’s difficult to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, watching with delight as Dick performs with his parents:** “Yay! Best night ever—aaaAAAAAAA!” *Watches in horror as Grayson tragedy wipes out entire family* “Oh no”  
>  **Ghost Dick, popping into existence next to him:** “Uh. Hey?” *Blinks, stares forlornly down at own transparent self*  
>  **Janet, whisking them both home:** “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll have you at peace in no time! Meanwhile, run along and play, boys”  
>  **Jack, staring confusedly around:** “How many ghosts are here right now? Am I standing in one of them?” *Edges slowly to the right, peering around suspiciously* “I am, aren’t I?”


	2. Chapter 2

“It’s possible Richard won’t be able to move on until whomever killed him and his parents has been brought to justice,” Janet says the morning after the tragedy. Tim just finished telling her about Dick’s suspicions, which the other boy confided in him late the night before. In the quiet darkness of Tim’s room the ghost sat, arms wrapped tight around his knees, and whispered the truth about what he saw. He’s exhausted today, probably from missing so much sleep, but it’s more than worth it if he’s already managed to help identify what’s keeping Dick in this world.

Tim thinks Dick having seen evidence that the Graysons’ deaths were intentional was probably why he manifested in the first place. He can tell his mom agrees. 

Dick hadn’t noticed until it was too late—he was already in the air when he saw the frayed cable—but the trapeze was tampered with. One of the cables supporting it appeared to be partially cut in such a way as to eventually break beneath the performers’ combined weight. Even as he fell, he knew their deaths were no accident.

Janet looks troubled at the news, as though she might be considering rescinding her offer to let Tim handle helping the ghost boy until he passes on. “I’m not sure…” she says, glancing over at Jack, who frowns.

Tim’s heart clenches and then starts racing. His mom has never given him an opportunity like this before. She’s always leaving, off to do her important work—this is his chance to show her he can be part of that, too. Maybe if he does a good enough job, they’ll even consider taking him on one of their trips someday instead of leaving him at home.

“I still want to be the one to help Dick! There’s no reason I can’t keep working with him while the police try to figure out the truth about what happened.” Tim doesn’t want to give this up. Not only is it the first time she’s ever shown willingness to let him prove he can do something like this on his own, it’s _Dick._ Somehow, Tim needs to be part of helping him.

She sighs, then raises a brow. “Darling, perhaps—but only if you _promise_ not to do any investigating of the Graysons’ murder yourself.”

Tim agrees immediately, not about to lose this opportunity. His mom subsides, though she still looks troubled.

Tim smirks. She didn’t say anything about _Dick_ looking for clues.

 _I’m not directly disobeying, just finding a workaround,_ he thinks a few weeks later as he waits for Dick to return from his evening of trying to find clues as to the name and whereabouts of the person he thinks might have been responsible for the murders _. After all, there’s a criminal out there and_ someone _needs to stop him so he doesn’t just get away with murder._

Still, it’s a little boring hanging out by himself while his friend takes advantage of his incorporeal form to canvas the city for clues—listening in on conversations for mentions of the circus or the Graysons’ names, peeking into bars and other places where thugs tend to congregate, and when all else fails, zipping through the streets searching for a face he recognizes. Tim gets to hear all about it when Dick gets back, of course, but it isn’t quite the same as being there himself. He yawns, wondering if he should let his heavy eyes fall shut and get a little rest before Dick returns. It seems like he’s tired all the time these days. Maybe he has a growth spurt coming up. That would be nice.

At that moment, Dick pops up right in front of where he sits on his bed, musing. The suddenness of his appearance causes Tim to startle and whack his head on the wall behind him. “Ow,” he complains, rubbing at the hurt spot and eyeing his friend accusingly.

Dick manages to look contrite for all of a single moment, then grins. “Oops, sorry, Timmy! But I just found the most amazing break in the case, you won’t believe it!”

“What is it?” So far, they haven’t had much luck. Their best lead is a man Dick noticed arguing with Mr. Haly the morning of the day he was killed, but he hasn’t turned up. Worse, apparently the police are still treating the Grayson family tragedy as an accident. The only reason the boys know the status is Dick floated through the precinct two nights ago and poked around until he found the case report laying on someone’s desk, already marked closed.

Maybe their luck has finally turned? Tim realizes all at once that he has mixed feelings about that possibility. Solving the case will in all likelihood mean Dick moving on and leaving for good. He wants his friend to be at peace and happy with his parents like he deserves, but…

He’s never really had a friend before, and the thought of Dick going away forever feels like a gaping wound opening up in his heart. _Ow._

The past few weeks hanging out together have been awesome, made even better because both of his own parents have been sticking around and spending time with them, too. It’s like a glimpse of the family and life he’s always wished he had. Even if he is tired all the time.

With a piercing ache, he realizes how much it’s going to hurt to let it all go.

_This is going to be so hard, but I need to do what’s best for Dick. It’s selfish to want to keep him around. My parents, too. Their work is so important. I shouldn’t want to have them all to myself when that would mean so many lost souls continuing to suffer._

Decided, Tim focuses on his friend, ready to hear his story.

“It’s the guy!” Dick is so excited he’s vibrating, ghostly form blurring slightly around the edges. “I found him! His name’s Tony Zucco, and he was trying to get some old guy in a bakery to give him money! I think he’s trying the same thing again, just like when he tried to make Mr. Haly pay him protection money.” He zips up to the ceiling, bouncing off the walls before twirling around Tim so fast he gets dizzy trying to follow with his eyes.

“Wow.” Tim blinks, shaking his head, and tries to figure out the best thing for them to do now.

They could always tip off the police, but that might not work. Now that the case is officially closed, the police might not be interested in reopening it. Especially not on what would have to be an anonymous tip, and with no actual evidence of wrongful death having occurred. No, the police are out. Investigate it and try to catch Zucco themselves? They might be able to catch him in the act of attempted extortion, but the probability of two kids, one of them an intangible ghost, being able to physically subdue a grown man—who probably carries some kind of weapon—is pitifully small. Besides, he promised Mom he wouldn’t. So, there’s only one possible course of action left.

“Batman,” he pronounces, with an air of finality. “We’ll take it to Batman.” His fingertips tingle and his heart races at the thought of actually meeting his hero in person after all this time watching him from afar.

Dick stops spinning through the air, so surprised he lowers to the ground and actually sinks into the floor slightly before he catches himself and pops back up to stare at Tim, eyes wide. “Wait, really? Batman? Do you honestly think he’d care? I mean, doesn’t he usually solve _big_ crimes and fight crazies? This seems too small and, well, _normal_ for him to bother with.”

He’s seen Tim’s special collection of photographs and knows he’s got a particular interest in the vigilante. Neither of them had even considered trying to bring Batman into this case earlier, but now that they have a solid lead, it should be a different story.

Tim smiles, thinking of the news stories that got him interested in Batman back when he was only six, and his occasional forays into the city at night to watch the hero in action. He hasn’t done it as much as he’d like, not when there’s always a chance one of his mom’s ghostly friends might spot him and tattle, but he’s seen enough to know the dark knight has a major soft spot for kids. Especially those who are victims of violent crimes. “He’d care,” he says, certain.

Dick nods, apparently trusting him enough to be satisfied, just like that.

They go over numerous ideas for how best to get Batman involved, but finally settle on Dick flying through the city to double check the Bat is on his usual patrol route. Once he’s confirmed Batman’s route, he flies alongside as Tim rides his bike to intercept the vigilante’s patrol outside Robinson Park, flagging him down when he passes overhead. It’s safe enough, really. Everyone knows the park is Poison Ivy’s territory, and she doesn’t hurt children.

Batman is both much more intimidating than Tim expected, and also somehow significantly less frightening than his reputation would imply. Maybe it’s the way he checks Tim over so carefully for injuries before he realizes he isn’t hurt. He’s huge, looming over both boys—not that he can actually see Dick. He stares at Tim, who doesn’t have to feign a slight tremble as he says, “Please, look into it?”

Batman responded exactly as expected when they flagged him down, swooping down upon hearing Tim’s cry for help. He stayed even after checking to make sure Tim wasn’t hurt, listening to his story. The boys had decided to stick as close to the truth as possible without revealing Dick’s involvement. Batman might reasonably be expected to be skeptical if he learned the main material witness in this case is a dead boy.

Now he frowns, clearly weighing everything Tim just told him. “I have already been investigating the Graysons’ deaths, but from a different angle.”

_Oh, wow. I had no idea anyone but us was trying to solve this case. I didn’t think anyone outside my family, Dick, and the murderer himself even realized it wasn’t an accident._

While he’s processing the implications of Batman’s words, the man continues, his voice gravelly and dark as the night around them. “You’re certain the man threatening the workers in the bakery was the same person you saw at Haly’s Circus that day, before the show?” The white lenses on Batman’s mask give away nothing, making Tim feels very exposed all of a sudden.

_Geez, this guy is really intense, and I’m not even guilty of any actual crimes. No wonder he has such a scary reputation. I bet he’s made at least one criminal pee their pants before._

Mouth dry, Tim swallows and nods, aware he’s probably staring up at the vigilante like a frightened bird regarding a large predator. “He yelled at Mr. Haly, and he was doing the same thing to the man in the bakery. His name is Mr. Zucco, I remember that.” Nothing he’s saying is technically a lie, which makes it much easier to keep his gaze clear and earnest as he entreats the dark knight once again. “Please, Mr. Batman, Dick Grayson was only a few years older than me, and he—”

His voice wobbles alarmingly and then breaks, his eyes growing hot and stinging as he sniffs, trying hard to keep control of his emotions. Just before his vision blurs too much to see, he spots Batman’s lenses widen as the man extends a hand toward him, then freezes, apparently unsure quite how to deal with a crying child.

Tim tries to keep it together, but the reality of everything chooses that moment to come crashing down on him and he sobs. The imminent loss of his first and best friend is a huge part of it. Then there’s the horrible tragedy he witnessed. He definitely hasn’t taken the time to properly process that trauma emotionally, what with the distraction provided by needing to help Dick. And he’s so tired. It feels like he hasn’t really gotten a solid night’s sleep ever since the Graysons fell. As if all that isn’t enough, underlying everything is the enormity of the ugly truth that this Tony Zucco guy callously killed two good people and their innocent kid—Tim’s _friend_ —just to send a message, all because the circus wouldn’t pay him money he hadn’t earned. It feels as though a dark abyss is yawning open beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole if he slips.

It’s a lot for a nine year old to take in. He’s been doing okay with everything up until now, but… Something about asking a grown up, the Batman himself, for help seems to have sent a message to Tim’s brain that everything’s in good hands now and it’s safe to let go.

 _Why am I feeling so sad? I should be happy. I have a friend, and I’m getting help for him, and—and he’s dead. He was dead before we even became friends, all because some jerk couldn’t be bothered to work for his money like a normal person. That guy_ killed _Dick, he’s_ dead, _and he’s going to_ leave me—

Everything seems so awful all of a sudden, overwhelming and harsh. Tim’s crying in earnest when he feels huge, strong arms close gently around him and then he’s pulled against a body armor-clad chest. “I will do everything in my power to bring Zucco to justice,” Batman growls.

Something in Tim believes him, and calms. Meeting Dick’s eyes where he floats just behind Batman’s shoulder, looking worried but hopeful, Tim feels a kind of peace wash over him.

Even when he loses Dick and his parents go back to traveling all the time, at least they’ll have taken Zucco off the streets. People the man would have gone on to kill will be spared. Other ghosts who would have been will never manifest and linger on, unavenged. Those people will get to go on living their lives instead. Just like Dick should have been able to live his life.

Tim can’t fix that. He can’t save Dick, but with Batman’s help, maybe he can give him a peaceful death.

That’s enough. It’ll have to be.

* * *

“So that’s it, right?” Dick stares at his hands, which remain exactly as translucent as they were before Tim showed him the article in today’s paper about Tony Zucco going to prison. “Shouldn’t I be disappearing, or walking into a bright light now or something?”

Tim looks just as confused as he does. “I mean, probably? Mom just said once your unresolved issues are settled, you’ll be at peace and be able to cross over.” He twitches toward the door, then freezes, looking conflicted. “I want to go get her and ask, but I’m afraid if I leave you’ll disappear while I’m gone.”

_Yikes, that would be awful._

Dick hates to even think about leaving without saying goodbye. Actually, he hates to think about leaving, period. But it’s not exactly something he has any control over. Tilting his head, he shrugs. “Go together?”

Instead of flipping and tumbling through the air like usual, he sticks close to Tim on their way down the stairs. If he had a physical form, they’d probably be holding hands right now. As it is, their arms are brushing over each other, overlapping just a little. To him, it feels… not like warmth, exactly, but similar. A sense of safety and caring, pouring into him from that tiny point of contact. He knows from previous experiments that Tim only feels it as icy cold when they touch, though. Dick moves away guiltily, putting some space between them. He doesn’t want to make his friend uncomfortable.

Frowning grumpily, Tim turns to glare at him, then closes the distance again. “I like it when we overlap. It means you’re _there.”_

_Oh. That’s… I didn’t realize._

“Well, okay then. Be freezing cold if you want.” Dick can’t hide his smile as he surreptitiously nudges even closer. Of all the sensations he lost with his body, he misses touch the most.

Tim meets his eyes, clearly having noticed his movement, and they both start giggling. They’re still laughing as they enter Janet Drake’s office.

She turns from her work, fine dark brows rising. She smiles, an expression of surprised amusement on her lovely face. “Well, hello there, boys. Is there something you need, or did you just come to say hello?” She doesn’t turn toward her computer, but it’s obvious she’s busy. Drake Industries doesn’t run itself, after all, and she’s definitely the main power behind the company’s success, for all that Jack’s the official face of the business. Dick’s learned a lot about the ins and outs of running a large corporation just from being around them for the past several months.

Tim twitches at his side, clearly resisting the urge to fidget. “It’s just—Dick’s still here.” He winces, then verbally backs up to explain. “Tony Zucco’s in prison now. The guy who killed the Graysons. We thought—”

Janet’s eyes widen and she looks from one to the other. “Oh,” she says, rising and coming over, reaching out a hand and tracing the outline of Dick’s cheek. There’s sympathy in her bright blue eyes, so much like Tim’s. “Oh, darlings. Sometimes it’s more difficult than we think, to let go of everything anchoring us to the world of the living.” She glances between them again, something inscrutable passing over her elegant features. “There’s one more thing you can try before we move on to other methods.”

Tim’s shoulders draw in a little, and it’s obvious in that moment that he doesn’t want to say goodbye just yet. Dick feels the same, but… He’s supposed to cross over, right? “What is it?” he asks.

“You could go visit the officers who closed the case. Thank them, even though they won’t be able to hear you. That might be enough to give you true closure.” She looks sad as she says it, and he wonders in passing if she and Jack are going to miss him, too.

Probably. They’ve been so kind this whole time.

He leans gently into Tim, overlapping his arm again. “I guess I’ll go do that now.” He raises his brows, knowing Tim at least will understand that he’s going to visit _Batman_ and not the police. After all, he’s the one who really closed the case. Tim nods, looking miserable. Dick frowns. “Hey, I’ll come back here and say goodbye, okay? If I can. I promise I won’t just leave if I have any choice.”

Janet chuckles, smiling fondly at them. “Oh, boys. Timothy, Richard will not be able to leave if he has any unfinished business here at all. That includes saying goodbye to you. Don’t worry yourself so—if he says he’ll be back, he will.”

Tim smiles at that, lifting his face. Janet opens her arms and he steps into them. As they hug, she makes eye contact with Dick over her son’s head and nods toward the window. She’s right. He might as well go and get this over with.

_I just hope what she said turns out to be true. I would really hate to never see Timmy again._

Dick concentrates on Batman, letting his mind empty of everything else, and then follows the pull to his location. That’s a handy trick he finally mastered in the last month or so, and it only works for people he’s got a pretty strong connection to. It’s great, allowing him to visit the circus wherever it is in the world and then fly back to Tim and Gotham the moment he wants to go home. He can do it with Jack and Janet, as well, although visiting them at the office is boring. With Batman, he picked up the ability to hone in on his location pretty quickly during the week it took the vigilante to track Zucco down.

There’s a familiar _whooshing_ sensation as he pulls on the connection to Batman and flies to him, scenery blurring around him. When he comes to a halt, he frowns. He’s in what looks like a hospital room. Was Batman injured? No, the figure in the bed is far too small to be the vigilante. Still worried, Dick scans the room, then blinks in mixed surprise and relief at the sight of a man who can only be an unmasked Batman, sitting in a chair pulled up to the bed with his head in his hands.

His fingers are digging into his hair, which looks tousled, as though he’s been running his fingers through it for a while. “I’m sorry,” the man says in a barely audible whisper.

Dick has the sudden sense that he’s intruding on a very private moment. He begins floating toward the door. He can come back later for his closure. It’s not like he’s in any kind of hurry to leave, anyway.

Batman is still speaking. “I’m sorry, Dick,” he says, lifting his head. The realization that Batman is really _Bruce Wayne_ is less stunning to Dick than the fact that the man just _said his name._

“Can you see me?” he asks, mouth dropping open in surprise. Has Batman been able to see him the whole time? But then why did he ignore him every time he showed up? Why didn’t he react when Dick got bored and did backflips off his shoulders, or that one time he made bunny ears on his head while he was lecturing some goons? No, there’s no way he can really see him. But then…

Dick’s eyes travel slowly over to the bed. Bruce is still speaking. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you or your parents, Dick. But I wanted you to know, the man who killed your parents and put you in a coma is behind bars now. You’re safe. I still don’t want to allow the media to report your survival, not until we’re sure no one else is after you, but… I just wanted you to know. He won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

It feels like the world is tilting around him as Dick finally looks at the face of the boy lying in the hospital bed. It’s him, pale and small amidst the monitors and medical tubing.

He’s alive.

 _Oh my god._ Dick blinks, then laughs. There’s a slightly wild quality to his laughter, but he’s not going to worry about that right now. His body isn’t dead, cremated, and buried in an unmarked grave somewhere. It’s right over there, and it’s breathing.

 _Welp, I guess now it makes sense why I haven’t been able to cross over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick and Tim, waiting breathlessly for Dick to dematerialize after Zucco goes to jail:** *Gaze at each other tearfully for a long, increasingly awkward moment as nothing happens* “Huh”  
>  **Janet Drake, helpfully:** “You could always try to get closure by thanking the officers of the law who put that bastard in jail without any help at all from either of you two fine, honest, promise-keeping boys!”  
>  **Tim, gulping:** “Uh…”  
>  **Dick, yeeting himself out the window to go thank Batman:** *Arrives in hospital room, spots Bruce Wayne crying over comatose body. Recognizes comatose body as himself* “What the flippity fudge?”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s incredible to find out that Dick is actually still alive—of course it is. In the end, though, it doesn’t really change things all that much. Tim’s so excited when he tells him, bouncing in place as he asks him if he’s tried to get back into his body yet.

Dick just laughs, nodding. “Of course! That’s the first thing I tried, after I got over the shock of still being alive. It didn’t work—which is probably for the best, I guess, or I might’ve just ended up trapped in a coma and never been able to come back and tell any of you about what happened.”

_Yeah, that definitely wouldn’t have been great._

He winces, imagining how disappointed and lonely Tim would have been if he thought Dick just crossed over without even saying goodbye. That would have been a mess.

“Anyway, I bet Mom has experience with something like this.” Tim doesn’t seem to want to give up on the idea of him having another chance at life. He’s a great friend. Getting to know the other boy better has probably been the very best part of his unlife.

It’s all for nothing, though. They tell her, speaking rapidly and interrupting each other in their excitement. Janet just stares at them both, brows drawn together with worry and puzzlement. “I don’t know why you couldn’t just go back in, darling. While I’ve encountered astral projecting spirits before, they were always tethered to their bodies by a thin strand of spiritual material. You… Well, there’s a reason I thought you were dead. Darling, you’re completely severed from your body. The only cases I’ve heard of in which a spirit was severed like that—well, they resulted in immediate death of the body. I’ve never… I’m so sorry, but I don’t have the faintest clue how to restore your connection.”

Well, that’s not good. He turns to Jack, who shrugs and blinks at them in obvious bafflement, clearly out of his depth but still interested and sympathetic. “So you’ll just stay here, right? You’re welcome with us forever, Dickie, you know that.” As usual, the man is staring earnestly at a spot approximately six inches to the right of where Dick actually is. It’s oddly endearing. “Timmy needs a friend around. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much as he has since you’ve come to stay with us.”

The simple kindness of his words brings ghostly tears to Dick’s eyes, and he can’t stop smiling.

In the end, none of them knows how to get Dick back into his body, so they just make the best of things. It actually works out pretty well.

Although some moments are definitely less enjoyable than others. The weird exercises Janet has him doing from the moment she finds out he’s going to be around for the foreseeable future are exhausting, and seem utterly pointless.

“Why do I have to keep _doing_ this?” Dick whines, concentrating so hard he feels like he’s going to explode. The blanket on the couch in front of him twitches, rising about an inch into the air before collapsing in a sad heap. He flops back on the couch with a loud groan, sinking into it until only his face is protruding. “What’s it even for? How is my being able to pick up a blanket ever going to help anyone?”

Janet chuckles as she looks at him from her position curled in the corner of the couch, where she’s been clicking through emails on her laptop. “Oh, I think you’ll find it quite valuable, indeed.” She smirks. It’s slightly disconcerting how much she resembles Tim with that expression on her face.

Dick stares for a moment, then shakes his head. He pouts. “Tell me? Maybe I’ll be inspired to try harder if you explain what this is for!”

Tim glances up at them, interested. He’s sitting on the floor, going through his ordinary photo collection. Lovely images of birds, sunsets, and interesting architecture surround him, and he’s midway through organizing them into a scrapbook. It’s going to be nothing compared to the incredible books he’s filled with photos of Batman’s adventures, but those ones are secret, only for him and Dick.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m curious too. I understand the other things you’ve been teaching him—turning electronic devices on and off, writing in condensation on mirrors, moving small objects short distances—those could all come in handy sometime. But why a _blanket?”_ He looks honestly puzzled, adorable face scrunched up in confusion. His tenth birthday passed a while ago, but he’s still so small and cute it’s easy to forget. He stifles a yawn, and Dick makes a mental note to try to encourage him to get more sleep. He always seems to be so tired. Of course, he needs a lot of sleep. He’s a growing boy, after all.

It’s one more reminder that Tim’s getting older, and Dick… isn’t. Even his comatose body doesn’t seem to be growing properly, not that he’s going to tell the Drakes that. It’s bad enough that Bruce Wayne is worried about it, and what his lack of growth may mean in terms of his body beginning to shut down. No need to worry Tim and his parents as well, especially not when there’s nothing they can do.

Janet sighs, then smiles at them. “Dick, pick up the blanket again.”

He rolls his eyes and considers sinking completely into the couch to escape this irritating and apparently useless exercise in concentration. “But whyyyy?” He stretches the last word into a long whine.

Janet merely rolls her eyes. “To hug Timothy, of course,” she answers in a matter of fact way, as though she hasn’t just said something impossible.

“Wait, what?” Dick pops out of the couch, suddenly feeling much less tired. “How?” He focuses on the blanket again, this time while imagining being able to somehow hug Timmy. The blanket rises a whole foot into the air, much farther than he’s ever managed to lift it before. Tim stares at it in wonder, mouth dropping open.

“Quickly, Timothy!” Janet sits up entirely, gesturing for her son to climb onto the couch. “Slide under the blanket, that’s it, darling. Now, Dickie, just _hug_ him.”

“Like this?” he asks, reaching out and tentatively wrapping his arms around the blanket. And—he _feels._ It’s not the absence of sensation he’s gotten used to dealing with when he touches inanimate objects, or even just the sense of safety and happiness he gets when he overlaps with someone who cares about him.

He can feel the outline of Tim’s shoulders beneath his arms, his face pressing into his chest. Wherever the blanket he’s controlling touches both of them, he can feel _Tim_ through it _._

 _Oh my god,_ he thinks in wonder. _Wow._

“Dick,” Tim murmurs into his neck, voice muffled by the blanket which is currently wrapped around his entire torso. “You give the _best_ hugs.” His voice hitches and his shoulders shake.

Dick automatically tightens his arms, gathering his friend closer and rocking them back and forth a little as a laugh of sheer delighted wonder slips out. “You’re so tiny, Timmy.”

“I’m growing! A little.” Tim sounds defensive now, less overwhelmed. That’s good. He’s always hated to see him cry. Although now it seems he won’t have to just stand by and do nothing, or fly off to get Janet to come and comfort him.

Now, he can give Tim a hug whenever he feels like it. Dick wants to hold on forever, but soon he gets too tired to keep it up. After another minute or so, the blanket flutters down. The sensations go with it, but that’s okay. He can practice and get better, and have this whenever they want. 

Tim sits up, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. “Okay, so that was pretty cool.”

Looking at Janet, Dick gives her his most sincere smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Drake. That was… Well, that was totally worth the effort.”

Sniffing haughtily and turning away, she surreptitiously wipes her eyes as she answers. “Of course it was, darling. I wouldn’t have had you do it, otherwise.”

* * *

Having both his parents home in Gotham all the time is something Tim’s getting far too used to. He’s decided just to enjoy it while it lasts, and not dwell on the future too much. His mom’s around almost all the time, working from home more days than not so she can spend time with him and Dick, teaching them all the ways she knows for ghosts to interact with the world. She has made it clear she wants his quality of unlife to be as high as possible, in case all the research she and Jack have been doing into his particular problem fails to produce a solution to get him back into his body again.

Jack is no less involved in their lives, although his attempts to play and interact with them are always punctuated by hilarity because he’s laughably bad at figuring out where Dick is. “Hey there, sports!” he calls out from the doorway to Tim’s room, where both boys are lying on the bed and reading comics.

Tim looks up, blinking, and Dick takes the opportunity to steal the comic he was reading. “Hey,” he complains. “Wait your turn!”

A rich chuckle draws their attention back to the doorway. “You two need to go stretch your legs. Or your ectoplasm, or whatever ghosts are calling it these days. How about a game of catch?”

Tim smiles, rising to his feet. He doesn’t really have much energy, but he can scrounge some up for this. He hasn’t played catch with his dad very many times over the years—his parents really are very busy people, and the six-month stretch they’ve been at home this time is unheard of. “Sure, Dad!”

Dick floats after them as they make their way down the stairs and outside. “So how’s this going to work?” He watches with apparent interest as Jack throws the baseball at Tim, who catches it easily out of the air. “How come I don’t get a mitt?” He’s been getting better and better at matter manipulation. All the practice he’s gotten from hugging—and occasionally mercilessly tickling—Tim through blankets has apparently been paying off in increased proficiency.

“That would make it too easy for Dad to guess where you are!” Tim says, laughing. Half the fun of playing games with both Dick and his dad is the man’s utter inability to extrapolate the ghost’s position. He tosses the ball gently back to his father, then waits, grinning.

Sure enough, Jack flings the ball in absolutely the opposite direction from where Dick is. “There you go, sport!”

“Geez!” Dick shoots off in pursuit of the ball, barely catching it before it disappears into the trees. They fall into a rhythm, Tim and his dad tossing the ball back and forth in between Jack doing his very best to toss it to the ghost boy, and failing utterly. Dick gets into it after a while, adding somersaults and tumbling sequences to his pursuit of the ball, and occasionally bouncing right off of Jack or Tim’s heads to give himself a boost and catch it out of the air.

“Why are you laughing so hard?” Jack wonders aloud at one point, eyeing his cackling son with every appearance of confused amusement. Behind him, Dick goes careening along the roof of the house, cartwheeling after the most recent wild pitch.

“No reason,” Tim answers with a grin. It’s easy to ignore how tired he feels all the time when he’s surrounded by his family and Dick.

Jack ruffles his hair, then tugs him in for a quick hug. “All right, kiddo, whatever you say.” He shakes his head with a fond smile. “Now, where did that ball go?” It drops out of the air in front of him and he catches it after a startled pause. “Ah, thanks, Dickie. Okay, Timmy, go long!”

It’s really been amazing to have his parents stick around for so long. Of course, he knows it isn’t going to last.

Knowing ahead of time won’t make it hurt any less when the time comes, though.

* * *

Being able to hug Tim helps a lot when Jack and Janet announce they’re finally resuming their long-deferred travels. It’s a full year and a half after they stopped traveling to try to help Dick, and then extended their hiatus in order to help him adjust to his new semi permanent unlife as a ghost. The first time, they only leave for a week and then come home for three weeks. The second time, it’s a month before they return.

Tim cries every time they leave, always waiting until after they’ve left before he allows his control to break. Dick is always there to hug him until he falls asleep, murmuring soft reassurances and promising not to leave him.

Dick holds Tim close the third time they go on a trip in as many months, cradling him in a sheet because they determined after a lot of trial and error that sheets are easier both for him to lift, and for Tim to breathe through. “You’d think there’s enough ghosts in Gotham who need their help,” he whispers resentfully, pressing a soft kiss to what’s probably Tim’s forehead. It’s oddly bumpy.

_Huh, okay, maybe that was an ear. Whatever, it’s hard to tell which way his head is facing under the sheet sometimes._

Tim sniffs wetly. “Mom answered that once before, when I was little and didn’t know better than to ask. She said there are plenty of ghosts in Gotham, but there are also a lot of ordinary clairvoyants around to help them. She also said she’s probably the only one in the world who can see ghosts, _and_ speak thirteen extinct dialects fluently. Not only that, Dad speaks eleven more. So… I guess it makes sense that they should use their gifts to try to bring peace to all those old souls who are still stuck haunting the scenes of their deaths hundreds of years later. It’s their duty. I’d hoped maybe they’d take me with them someday, but… I guess not this time.” He yawns, stretching slightly in Dick’s arms.

“Still, it’s your birthday.” Dick frowns. “What about their duty to you?”

When Tim answers, his voice sounds sleepy, but Dick can hear the smile in it. “They only have access to this dig for a week, and that’s already a short window to settle a spirit. Also, before they left, Mom apologized and promised they’d take us to any show or museum of our choice when they get back to make up for missing my birthday. And she said they feel better leaving now than they used to. They trust you to look after me.”

_Aw, that’s so sweet and also so sad. I really hate to think of them leaving you before I came. Even though there’s a housekeeper around during the day and on call at night, it isn’t the same._

Tim falls silent then, and after a moment Dick realizes he’s drifted off to sleep. He gently lifts him up and carries him to his room, where he lowers him to the bed and tucks him in properly. Being able to manipulate blankets and carry Tim around in them has been incredibly helpful. The eleven year old has no idea of proper sleep habits, especially during the long stretches when the older Drakes are out of the country. It seems like even when he gets a full night’s sleep, he’ll still drift off during the day whenever and wherever he happens to sit still long enough.

His heart breaks, imagining a younger Tim left entirely alone. The Drakes aren’t bad parents, really, just busy, and their priorities are distributed across so many different obligations that sometimes their son seems to slip through the cracks. He frowns, gazing down at the sleeping boy.

_I’m really glad I’m here. If I were in my body trapped in a coma, there’d be no one around to take care of Tim. Maybe things worked out for the best, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Dick, doing annoying exercises Janet set for him:** *Waves blanket around irritably* “What’s even the point of all th—” *Accidentally waves blanket into Tim, realizes he can hug him through it* “Oh! Yay!”  
>  **Jack, tossing a ball toward nobody:** “Catch, Dickie!” *Grins at the others* “I think I’m getting better at sensing where he is!”  
>  **Tim, sniffling sadly after his parents finally resume their travels:** “Time to mope around for the next few weeks—oh!” *Snuggles into Dick’s arms as they ghost-hug through a sheet* “Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad after all”


	4. Chapter 4

Tim munches on some snacks, alternating between handfuls of popcorn and marshmallows as he messes around on his laptop, trying to stay awake until Dick gets home. He’s finished hacking into GCPD’s files to read about one of the cases they’re interested in, so now he’s idly attempting to establish a backdoor into the Batcomputer while an old episode of Star Trek plays in the background. Dick’s out shadowing Batman on patrol tonight, and he’ll probably end up following Bruce to the hospital if the man decides to visit him there. He usually does on Sunday evenings, even now, over three years after the tragedy.

 _I wonder what will happen if we ever_ do _find a way to help Dick wake up? Bruce Wayne adopted him last year, so I guess he’d go live over at Wayne Manor. It’s kind of crazy to think he might end up being Batman’s kid someday._

Well, it hardly matters. Despite asking around and seeking advice from all their contacts in the paranormal community, his parents haven’t yet managed to track down a way to repair Dick’s connection to his body. Without that, there’s no way he’ll be able to wake up and live again.

It’s not so bad, though. At least, he doesn’t think so. Dick seems more than satisfied with all the adventures they’ve had together. It’s so much more fun to run around after Batman with a ghostly friend along to help guide him and tell him when to hide. He’d do it every night if he had the energy and thought he could get away with it, but there’s no way he could keep his parents from finding out. He’d rather push off the inevitable confrontation about his interest in vigilante work for as long as possible—there’s no way his parents will take that well. Especially not when he’s starting to see a future for himself in it, instead of wanting to follow in his parents’ footsteps. Once every few weeks is all he can safely manage. Anyway, at least he gets to hear about Batman’s patrols from Dick on the nights he can’t join him.

A whisper of movement on the edges of his senses draws his attention to the couch beside him. He looks up expectantly, then smiles when he sees Dick is now sitting next to him. The ghost raises a blanket between them and wiggles his eyebrows invitingly. “Wanna cuddle?”

Dick always wants to cuddle. That’s okay, because Tim’s more than happy to oblige.

Nodding, Tim leans into the blanket and then sighs as Dick’s arm drapes around his shoulders. They’re the same age now, physically twelve years old. Annoyingly, Dick is still slightly taller than him. It doesn’t seem like he’s grown much at all over the past few years—he’s embarrassingly short for his age.

Age is such a weird thing. If Dick wakes up soon, his body will be fifteen, but he’ll still have only twelve years of education and memories—unless his time as a ghost is taken into consideration. It’s a strange thought, and the discrepancy is only going to increase the older Dick’s living body gets while his spiritual manifestation remains unchanged. Maybe he’ll wake up ten years from now and suddenly find himself in the body of a grown man. It’s a weird thought.

The background noise changes as Dick surreptitiously uses his control over electronics to switch the show from Star Trek to some kind of romantic comedy. Tim rolls his eyes, but allows it. He’s had his turn. They’re probably going to talk through it, anyway. “Did Mr. Wayne not go to the hospital tonight?” Dick’s back a little early, which would make sense if the Bat changed his routine for some reason.

“No, he went, but he actually just dropped by the hospital as Batman for a quick visit because he was caught up in something and couldn’t stay long. I left him at the Batcomputer, glaring at it and muttering something about a network incursion.”

Tim twitches guiltily. Oops.

“You wouldn’t happen to have had anything to do with that, right?” Dick raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Timmy! You can’t hack _Batman!”_

“Not _yet,”_ Tim mutters, mutinous. He’d thought he’d been plenty careful. Swallowing, he tries not to picture himself waking up later with Batman looming over him, glaring. Suddenly, he feels much less sleepy. “Guess that wasn’t my best idea.”

“Did you really try to hack the Batcomputer?” Dick sounds both horrified and impressed. “You know you could just ask me to find out anything you want.”

Shrugging, he looks away, tucking his head under Dick’s chin. “I know, I just want to be able to do it myself. Besides, it would make it easier to help him with cases if we had a way to see everything he’s working on. It’s not like you can shadow him every hour of the day, so it seems like we’re always playing catch up trying to figure out how to help him.”

It’s been a project for them over the past year or so, trying to help Batman as he works to solve cases and save people. He does so much good, and he’s alone most of the time. Dick does a great job tailing him on patrol, intervening in small ways to protect the vigilante from well-aimed bullets and sneak attacks. Tim does better on the detective side of things, putting clues together and seeing the patterns, then helping Dick figure out ways to draw Batman’s attention to key points. A soft noise causing him to look at the right doorway in an apartment building, a photo shifted slightly on his desk to make him take another glance at a particular witness—they’ve found lots of ways to make themselves useful.

It feels like the least they can do, considering Bruce Wayne went and adopted Dick Grayson and is paying for the very best medical care to try to help him wake up. From what Dick’s said, he feels responsible. Apparently, he was there at the circus that night and saw the whole thing happen.

“That’s fair, I guess,” Dick says, shaking his head. “Fine, but I’m going to laugh so hard if Batman shows up in your room one night to lecture you about the dangers of hacking.”

That would be terrifying. Tim’s just opened his mouth to reply when there’s an odd _whooshing_ sensation, and then Jack Drake is standing in the room with them.

He’s oddly translucent.

_Oh no._

“Daddy?” Tim whispers, blood turning to ice as he stares at the apparition. Dick’s arms twitch, then tighten around him.

Jack looks at him pityingly, sorrow in every line of his handsome, normally jovial face. “Oh, son. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The plane—our plane went down. It was over quick. I’m sorry. We never wanted to leave you forever. We always meant to come home to you.”

There are tears welling up in his eyes and he hates it, blinks them away because he can’t _see._ This can’t be real—his parents _can’t_ be dead, and if he just manages to stop _crying_ long enough to look he’ll see that there’s nothing there. There can’t be.

The arms cradling him begin rubbing gently up and down his sides, and he can hear Dick’s voice shushing him, murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance. He’s speaking Romani, the way he only does when he’s really upset about something. That, more than anything else, drives home the reality of the situation and Tim begins to shake.

“Daddy, _no._ No no no, you’re not dead, you’re coming home tomorrow—you _promised_ you’d be home, and stay for a month this time.” His voice cracks and breaks, a tight, sore lump forming in his throat and stealing away his words. The tears keep coming, though, as do the sobs which wrack his body.

“Oh, Timmy, kiddo, _no,_ I’m here, can’t you see I’m here?” A chill passes through him and he looks up, blinking through the tears, to see an expression of utter desolation on his dad’s face. He tries to hug Tim again, seemingly unable to process that it didn’t work the first time. His attempt fails once more, his hands passing right through him.

“That takes some practice, Mr. Drake,” Dick whispers softly. “I’ll help teach you.” He reaches out and pulls Jack into a side hug, offering him comfort the way Tim can’t right now.

He leaves unspoken that they’ll have all the time in the world for that, because Jack’s—Tim can’t quite bring himself to complete the thought. He doesn’t want to admit that his dad is dead.

The corners of Jack’s mouth tug down and his eyes look suspiciously bright as he nods once, briskly. “Thanks, sport. I’d-I’d appreciate that.” He sniffs loudly, turning his head to the side as though he thinks they can’t tell he’s crying. “I’m sorry, boys—”

It takes a while for Tim to calm down enough to speak again. Sipping a bottle of water Dick brought him, the first thing he does is ask, voice raspy, “Where’s Mom?” Because he’s been thinking about it. If Jack and Janet Drake died in a plane crash, there’s no _way_ Dad manifested and managed to find his way home, and Mom didn’t. She has the spiritual experience and skills to have made it back here easily, and probably would have done it faster than Dad. In fact… “I bet it took you hours to make it here. She should’ve been here the instant it happened, but she wasn’t.”

Dick looks down, then hesitantly says, “You know… Not everyone manifests. If she didn’t…”

_No. I can’t accept that. Never seeing Mom again—no. It’s not even a possibility._

Tim shakes his head vehemently. “No, she _would._ I know she would, even if it was only long enough to come here and say goodbye. Mom loves us, loves me.” He sees the hurt look on Dick’s face at his thoughtless words before the ghost manages to mask it, and realizes he misspoke. He turns to his friend and continues, softer, “Your parents didn’t even know it was possible to manifest, or I’m sure they would’ve stuck around, too. Especially if they knew you were staying. But Mom—she _knows._ There’s no way she’d leave us.”

 _Leave me,_ goes unspoken.

Jack looks at him helplessly, an expression of sadness and love on his face. His hands keep twitching toward him, clearly yearning to take him into his arms for a comforting hug. “I’m sorry, son,” he says again. “But I don’t think—”

At that moment, the front door slams open. They all stare in shock, listening to the sounds of someone moving rapidly, almost frantically, through the house toward them. Tim’s mind is frozen, unable to deal with this new onslaught, when—

Janet Drake bursts into the room, wild eyed and panting. She looks completely exhausted, with dark circles beneath her eyes and a slight tremor as though she might collapse at any moment. There’s a cast on her ankle and she’s using crutches. She has more bandages than actual skin showing, and what little skin is visible is bruised. But she’s solid and present, _alive._

Her gaze is fixed on Jack, an expression of soul-deep relief on her weary face. “Oh thank god, I thought you’d _gone,_ darling, you weren’t there and I thought you’d _gone!”_ She moves toward him, wrapping her arms around his form even though there’s no way she can actually feel anything but cold from him the way he is now.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I realized what had happened and my first thought was to get to the boys. Check on them, make sure they were alright. I know it wasn’t logical—” Jack sounds apologetic.

“Nonsense, darling, of course you would think of them at a time like that. I’m just so relieved you’re still here. I have no idea what I would have done had I lost you entirely. As it is, at least we’ve already got plenty of experience dealing with _this.”_

“This?” Tim asks, hesitant. Death? But it didn’t sound like that was what she meant.

Janet turns to look at him, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Sniffing softly, she rubs at her eyes with one elegant hand. She laughs then, though she doesn’t sound very amused. “Why, ghosts who’ve lost their connection to their comatose bodies, of course!”

Stunned, they all turn to stare at Jack again.

“Huh,” he says, blinking in bemusement. “I thought I was dead. I sure _looked_ dead.”

“Oh, no, that was just the blood. Messy business, plane crashes, but ours happened during the landing and wasn’t from very high up. Everyone survived, and you were the only major injury.” Janet reaches out for him again, then visibly stops herself. Turning to Tim, she takes him in her arms instead for a fierce hug. “I’m _so_ glad we made it home to you, darling. I’m sorry we’ve given you a fright.”

Looking around, she notices the ridiculous movie playing on the TV, and raises an eyebrow. “The Princess Bride?” Shaking her head and giving them a fond smile, she pauses for a long moment, then murmurs, “Well, why not? It’s been a few years since I’ve seen this.” With that, she settles on the couch next to him and Dick with a sigh. Her eyes fall closed for a moment as she relaxes, and it’s clear she’s nearly completely spent. Opening her eyes again, she offers a small smile. “Here, darling, sit beside me.” She pats the couch at her side and looks at Jack invitingly.

The new ghost lurches clumsily over and collapses beside her, landing partially submerged in the couch. He stares down at his legs, half-sunken into the furniture, with a ludicrously accusing expression. “Whoops, seem to have misjudged a bit there.” He straightens and gradually rises back out of the couch, looking mildly embarrassed. “Guess Dick took to being a ghost easier because he was so agile already.”

“It took a while to get the hang of it, but you’ll get there,” Dick says reassuringly.

Janet locates the bowl of popcorn and primly eats a single kernel. “Well, this is a lovely respite,” she says, leaning back into the couch with another sigh. Considering the harrowing time she’s obviously endured since the plane went down, it’s a well-deserved break.

Tim blinks, taking in his bizarre family, half of them ghosts now. “So… This is it? Dad’s just going to be a ghost, too, from now on?”

Janet turns to him, and the looks she has on her tired face in that moment sends a thrill through him. There’s determination in her eyes and a fierce smile on her lips. “Oh, no, darling. In the morning, we’re going to redouble our efforts to get them back into their bodies. We have a sample size of two now, you see. Many of our contacts who could do nothing for us before may yet come through for us now that we have an additional data point to give them.”

Dick squeezes him, and he looks up to see the banked hope in his friend’s eyes. They don’t talk about it much, but he knows they both still hope he’ll be able to wake up someday. For all their sakes, he hopes she’s right.

If she isn’t, though, that’s okay too. They’ll find a way to make things work. They always do, after all.

“Marshmallow?” Tim asks hopefully. Dick pops one into his mouth for him, and he grins. Yeah, they’ll be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim and Dick, cuddling sweetly under a blanket watching a movie:** *Jump in shock as Jack Drake’s ghost manifests right in front of them* “Holy crap!”  
>  **Tim, weeping:** “Oh no, Daddy!”  
>  **Jack, weeping:** “Son!” *Tries and fails to hug Tim. Reaches out and hugs Dick instead* “Oh hey, I can do this now!”  
>  **Janet, slamming open door dramatically:** “Darling! You’re in a coma, but that’s par for the course around here at this point. Oh, is that Princess Bride?” *Sits down on the couch between living and ghostly family members* “Pass the popcorn?”


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, Janet is completely right—although not at all in the way she expected.

“Oh, your husband?” Doctor Olivia Ayers is an old friend from Janet’s schoolgirl days. She’s also a professor of history and a learned occultist, renowned worldwide in certain circles. She occasionally invites the Drakes to join her on expeditions to locations which she suspects are haunted. Being sensitive herself, she can generally tell when a paranormal entity is present, though judging whether it’s a ghost or a different, more inimical being is beyond her limited abilities. She’s always very apologetic when Jack and Janet end up being chased by a demon on one of her digs, of course. “That’s likely quite easy, then. Almost certainly it’s just your own powers, bubbling him for safekeeping, wouldn’t you agree?”

Olivia smiles beatifically, apparently oblivious to having completely blindsided Janet with her blithe words. She leans back in the cushioned desk chair pulled up to the antique desk while Janet stares at her, trying to make sense of what the woman just said. The scent of sandalwood rises from incense burning on a side table, not quite masking the aroma of old book which permeates the office. Every wall is covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves, loaded with texts and manuscripts and the occasional curiosity in a jar. It’s an interesting place, constantly changing as the professor’s shifting interests bring a new aspect of paranormal research to the fore, but right now all Janet cares about is finding out more.

She can hardly believe what she just heard—is it truly possible someone has finally come forward with a potential explanation for the phenomenon that trapped two of the most important people in her life in comas?

“Excuse me?” Janet asks, hesitant to place too much hope on the other woman. After all, Olivia’s always been one to jump from one idea to the next, rarely bothering to explain the thought process which led from one to the other. If she’s simply theorizing, whatever notion she has may end up being no help at all. _“Bubbling?_ I have no idea what that is. I’ve never encountered even a mention of such a thing.” Her eyes narrow. “And, Olivia, darling, if you have a possible explanation for a spirit existing severed from a comatose body, why on earth didn’t you think to mention it to me three years ago, when I approached you for help the first time?” She tries not to allow too much acid to drip into her tone. Olivia is a very old friend, after all, and it isn’t her fault she’s a bit scatterbrained.

That doesn’t stop it from being highly irritating on occasion, though. She leans forward in the uncomfortably hard seat, trying to get a better view of the other woman around the towering stacks of books and loose documents piled on the desk. Honestly, it’s impossible to see how she ever manages to get anything done in this chaos. It makes Janet tired even to think about it. Or perhaps that’s simply the ongoing exhaustion of dealing with the company, raising her son, and attempting to find a solution to restore Jack and Richard to life, all on her own. After all, her helpmate isn’t particularly helpful in his current ghostly state.

Olivia frowns, peering at Janet over her wire-rim spectacles and raising a sandy blonde eyebrow. After a moment, she huffs a laugh and shakes her head in disbelief, her abundant, flyaway blonde hair bouncing with the movement. “Now, Janet, I’m surprised at you. Of course I didn’t consider it at for that case. The boy wasn’t close enough to you before his death for it to possibly apply.” She frowns. “Though, if you’ve never heard of bubbling, that explains it. You wouldn’t know about the requirements, of course.”

“What does that mean?” There’s a quivering feeling inside her, a breathless sense of possibility rising. She’s on the brink of a realization of utmost importance, an epiphany which hasn’t quite broached the surface of her conscious mind yet. Perhaps…

 _I hardly dare to hope, after all this time, and yet… If there’s a solution for Jack, there_ must _be one out there for Richard, as well. I cannot accept anything less. How could I possibly face the boys again if I fail that child now?_

Olivia purses her lips, looking faintly distressed. “It’s quite dreadful that you were never taught about this.” Tilting her head and gazing into space, she murmurs, “Of course, so few clairvoyants are strong enough to do it—and then there are the occasional negative consequences. I wonder if the ability was intentionally suppressed during the Dark Ages? Or perhaps even earlier… Anyway.”

She shakes her head, cutting off whatever train of thought she had begun to ride away on. Snapping her attention back to focus on the subject at hand, and entering into what Janet recognizes as her lecturing mode, she resumes her explanation. “Very powerful clairvoyants are able to do more than simply see the dead, you know. They can also interact with spirits to some degree. I know you’re aware of—well, _those_ powers.”

Janet barely represses a shudder. Yes, there were a few unfortunate stories whispered about in her family history regarding certain family members who chose to use their gifts for dark purposes. They never met good ends. “I know a clairvoyant is able to see and communicate with spirits due to possession of a higher than average concentration of spiritual energy. I’m aware a rogue clairvoyant can choose to pour a portion of that excess power violently into another living person in order to sever the connection between their living body and spirit—but doing so always results in immediate death for the victim, never a coma.”

She grimaces, feeling ill at the very thought of misusing her gifts like that. “There were several cases in which a murder was committed in just that way. Generally for some sordid motive like inheritance, and the greedy clairvoyant got away with murder for a time because spiritual severing isn’t exactly traceable as a cause of death. But that type of thing tends to balance out in the end. The ghosts generally got their revenge eventually, resulting in a short, wretchedly haunted life for the guilty clairvoyant.” She shakes her head, puzzled. “I’ve certainly never heard of a spiritual severing occurring by accident, or resulting in a coma instead of death.” Frowning, she attempts to see a connection. Is it truly possible her own powers are somehow responsible for what happened to Jack? In that case, why is his body still alive? And what about Richard, then?

Nodding, Olivia replies, “Bubbling is related to those types of incidents, but the mechanism, motivation, and direction put into the energy transference is completely different. Quite simply, every time you touch someone you love, a portion of your power reaches out to them and wraps around their spirit. It’s harmless and normally dissipates quickly, within an hour at most. But, if the person should undergo a near-death experience during that time period, your power may react protectively. It could temporarily sever the connection to their body, while placing it in a healing coma and surrounding their spirit in what is effectively a protective bubble to preserve it until such time as it’s safe to reenter the body.”

She raises a brow. “But you see what I mean, about why it’s the likely explanation for what has happened with your husband? And, of course, the chances of it also applying to the case of that poor acrobat boy are vanishingly small. It simply wouldn’t occur with someone you hadn’t had close physical contact with, and cared about deeply enough for your power to naturally surround and cling to them.”

The idea which has been teasing at the edges of Janet’s conscious mind finally rises, fully formed. It’s accompanied by waves of relief and happiness as she realizes that yes, this scenario very much _might_ apply to Richard, as well. After all, Timothy has cared about Richard Grayson since he was a tiny child, and the pair shared a hug—physical contact—less than an hour before Richard fell.

_Oh, if only—I want so very much for this to be true. It’s the merest thread of a possibility to grasp at, but perhaps…_

It’s something to work with, at least. But the entire idea of _bubbling_ still doesn’t quite make sense to her. “Why, though?” Janet shakes her head. “It seems ridiculous. What on earth is the point? Wait…” She pauses as the rest of the woman’s words catch up with her. “What did you mean by _healing_ coma?”

Olivia sighs, looking mildly frustrated. “The records aren’t terribly clear on that point, I’m afraid. As far as I can tell, bubbling only occurs if the accident would otherwise have resulted in death. While the spiritual connection is severed, the clairvoyant’s own energy is siphoned into the comatose body, healing it—though without a connection to its own spirit, it is otherwise is a state of stasis. The clairvoyant’s energy will heal any injuries over time, but it won’t grow or otherwise change until the spirit is reattached. I recall reading one account of a baby who slept for over five years while she healed, and didn’t grow into a toddler until after her mother restored her spirit and she finally woke up. Apparently the entire process can take quite a bit of energy from the clairvoyant, which may explain why this skill was allowed to fall by the wayside.” She clears her throat. “There are some accounts which… well, did not end well for either the clairvoyant or the subject they were trying to save.”

Janet’s head is spinning. This… Well, it would explain the sense of exhaustion she’s been feeling since the accident. Jack’s body is drawing from her reserves. She’d just blamed her own lack of sleep and worry, but… She blanches as another thought hits her like a runaway train.

 _Oh dear god—Tim._ She pictures her son, small for his age, and thin, always with shadows beneath his eyes. _Has he been losing energy all this time? I wonder if he would have been taller, stronger, if he hadn’t…?_

Well. Time enough to worry about that later. And knowing her child, he’d be more than happy to sacrifice some energy and a few inches in height if that’s what it took to save his friend. Although it doesn’t quite make sense—if this were truly the reason for Richard’s coma, then wouldn’t someone have noticed he wasn’t growing properly? She shakes her head a moment later, feeling foolish. Of course the Drakes wouldn’t have heard about it if that were the case; only the boy’s doctors and adoptive father would be aware. And perhaps his ghost. She’ll have to ask him, when she gets home.

“Good heavens,” Janet murmurs, feeling faint. “This really seems like something one ought to have been taught.” Admittedly, preservation of knowledge within the occult community over the centuries has been spotty at best, what with the witch-burnings, Inquisition, and occasional accidental balefire incident destroying many precious works over the years. Still, she can’t help but feel her education really ought to have been better.

 _At least I can make sure to pass this information along to Timothy,_ she comforts herself.

Olivia pats her shoulder in a bracing and reassuring manner. “There there, dear. I suppose it’s something of a lost art these days. I’ve only read about it, myself, and that was mostly in ancient Sumerian texts.”

Janet raises an eyebrow. “I wonder why it isn’t more commonly known?” Such a skill seems extremely useful and should not have been forgotten. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with those occasional negative consequences you mentioned, would it?” She taps her fingers on the desk. She doesn’t really want to know, but if there’s anything that might negatively affect her family… “What went wrong?”

Her friend gives her a sad smile. “The healing of the comatose body is primarily powered by the clairvoyant’s own spiritual energy. This state of stasis allows for healing of injuries which would otherwise have likely proven fatal. But sometimes it fails. When the energy the clairvoyant has to give is not sufficient to repair the damage, well… Imagine trying to fill a bucket with a hole in the bottom.”

Janet pictures it, and winces at the implications. _The energy would just continue to drain until the clairvoyant had nothing left. In such a case, I imagine both the clairvoyant and their loved one would die._

She pushes aside that thought, feeling strongly that it’s something she’d rather not consider right now. After all, both Dick and Jack’s bodies are recovered at this point. All they need is a spiritual connection so they can wake up.

Still, if this bubbling technique occasionally results in the true deaths of both the clairvoyant and the one they’d meant to save—well, she can certainly see why it may have fallen into disuse. Such a risk is not one to be taken lightly.

 _Of course, that doesn’t help when it simply happens on its own, entirely by accident,_ she thinks ruefully.

Olivia shivers, then shakes her head, visibly dismissing that line of thought. “It’s dreadful, of course, but obviously not a worry in this case. You’re clearly fine, and from what you’ve said Jack’s body has recovered beautifully. Now, the clairvoyant must reattach the spirit when the time comes, of course—”

“How does one reattach the spirit?” There are so many questions which Janet wants to ask, but right now, this one feels most urgent.

“Oh, simply enough. Have the spirit lie down overlapping the body, then give them a kiss that reflects your love for them. That’s all it takes to restore the connection. For heaven’s sake, though, check with his doctors first and be certain he’s ready to wake up. Don’t do it until the body is healed enough to live once the spirit is put back—the healing coma will end the moment you reattach him. If the body hasn’t healed enough, he will die and the entire bubbling exercise will have been for nothing.”

That’s nearly enough to go on. Only… “What do you mean, a kiss to reflect my love?” It seems an odd way to put it.

“Just that. Since this is your husband, a kiss on the lips should suffice. If it were your child or a friend, forehead would do it.”

_Ah. Well, this is going to be interesting._

“Thank you, darling. That seems simple enough,” Janet muses, privately considering whether she should make a bet with Jack over which type of kiss Timothy will have to administer to wake Richard. Jack swears the boys are just good friends, but she’s _seen_ the way they look at each other sometimes. It’s worried her, with Timothy growing older every day and Richard incorporeal, frozen in time. Now, though…

She smiles. _It really is a good thing Bruce Wayne adopted Richard when he did. Otherwise, I’d have to work to convince Jack not to make those poor boys brothers now and instigate years of guilt and secretive fumblings. This is a far more elegant solution._

Nodding to herself, she stands, preparing to leave. If she hurries, she can catch an evening flight back to Gotham. Now that she has a potentially viable solution, the sooner she can test it out, the better.

“Of course, glad I could help.” Olivia coughs, then reaches for a bottle of that distinctly unpleasant-looking liquid she so enjoys. There appear to be gelatinous globs of— _something—_ floating in it. She swallows some down, to her evident enjoyment and Janet’s secret horror. “Now, was that all? Because I think there’s a gentleman haunting the university library. Would you mind taking a look before you go?”

Janet stifles a sigh. “Yes, of course, darling.” Moving toward the door, she mentally rearranges her flight plans. Red eye will have to do. It isn’t that much of a delay, and after all, it’s only fair. Olivia truly has been a great help. If this solution works, Janet will never begrudge the other woman a minor favor again—flightiness, repellent drink preferences, occasional accidental demons, and all.

* * *

Dick feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his body as he lies there, staring up at Tim, who looks just as scared and excited as he is. Over Tim’s shoulder, Janet and Jack are visible, clutching each other’s hands as they watch. Jack looks wrung out, having only been awakened from his own coma a few minutes ago. Janet seems more awake than she’s been since the accident, which makes sense, considering the whole energy siphoning thing. Her gaze is so determined and fierce, it almost hurts to look at her.

_I really hope this works._

The thought of being able to get off of this bed and walk around, be _human_ again, is incredible. To actually be able to walk down the street and be seen, talk to anyone he wants instead of needing Tim or Janet to translate—it’s almost impossible to imagine.

“You could have told us your body wasn’t growing,” Tim whispers, breaking the silence. He reaches out and squeezes Dick’s hand.

Dick wonders if he’ll actually be able to feel that, in a few minutes. Then he snorts. “I didn’t want you guys worrying about me even _more._ The fact that my physical body hasn’t grown at all since my death is medically concerning. The doctors thought it meant I might be starting to shut down. Bruce has really been worrying about me. I didn’t want to make you guys worry, too, especially when there was nothing you could do about it.”

Tim huffs. “Well, apparently it was just in some kind of weird stasis state. Which might have helped us figure things out sooner, if _someone_ had decided to _tell_ us the things he overheard while he was floating around his own hospital room in ghost form—”

“Well, maybe _you_ could have mentioned the fact that you’ve been in a state of _perpetual exhaustion_ for over _three years_ —” Seriously, the idea that Tim’s been unknowingly giving Dick’s body energy all this time fills him with a wave of guilt every time he thinks about it.

Tim scowls. “I thought I was getting ready for a _growth spurt,_ okay?”

Oh, that’s rich. “For _three years?_ And _what_ growth spurt, you’ve barely grown an inch since I met you—”

“So I’m clearly _due_ for one—”

Behind them, Jack clears his throat. “Ah, not sure what the other side of this conversation sounds like, but I think I can guess. Kiddos, could you hurry things up a bit? We don’t actually have permission to be here right now, and the last thing we need is Mr. Wayne showing up and having security throw us out.”

Janet smothers a chuckle. “He’s right, boys.” Her expression is soft as she looks at them. “Darlings, even if this doesn’t work, we will keep trying. Please don’t be afraid to try.”

Dick turns to meet Tim’s eyes, and _oh._ There’s fear there, but it’s fading now. That’s good. Tim smiles down at him. “Here goes nothing,” he says, leaning down to plant a careful kiss on Dick’s forehead. Dick waits, frozen in place, for something to happen.

It doesn’t.

A cold chill spreads through him with the realization that it didn’t work. “Oh,” he whispers sadly. “I guess it’s back to the drawing board, then.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t really work out. Well, at least now he knows he hasn’t been stealing energy from Tim like some kind of ghostly leech.

Above him, Tim’s body shakes in a suppressed sob. Dick’s just about to steal the sheet off his own body so he can give his friend a hug when Janet murmurs, “Try it the other way, Timothy.”

“Huh?” Tim looks confused as he lifts his head to face his mom.

Jack seems equally baffled. “What do you mean, love?”

Janet smirks, clearly amused. “Kiss him on the lips.”

Tim blushes beet red to the tips of his ears. “Mom!” he squawks, curling in on himself in embarrassment and covering his face with his hands.

Dick just stares at him, mouth falling open in surprise. “Uh. Isn’t a kiss on the lips supposed to mean, ah, _romantic_ love?” He tries not to squeak as he says the words, with only moderate success.

“Just try it, Timothy,” Janet presses inexorably onward. “That is, if it’s alright with you, Richard?”

“Yep!” Dick says, far too quickly, then wonders if it’s possible for ghosts to blush. It doesn’t matter, though, because now Tim’s peeking out at him from behind his fingers. “It’s fine,” Dick whispers, needing to reassure him.

Tim nods, lowering his hands, then leans forward. Slowly, carefully, and oh so gently, he presses his mouth to Dick’s, closing his eyes just before their lips touch. And Dick—

 _Feels_ it. Tim’s lips are so warm and soft, and he smells clean, the scent of fresh soap and a little hint of the pancakes and syrup he had for breakfast. Also the coffee he keeps sneaking sips of, even though it’s against the rules, and—

“Oh my god,” Dick chokes out, instinctively wrapping his arms around Tim and pulling him right down on top of himself. “Oh my _god,_ it worked. I’m alive!” He starts laughing as Tim wiggles, trying to slide off of him.

“Let go, Dick! I’m going to squish you!” The other boy manages to tug himself free and slide off to one side where he remains, half curled around Dick. It feels wonderful.

Still… “You’re too small to squish me.” It’s true. Holding Tim on top of him felt… oddly nice, really. Dick blushes.

Tim huffs, offended. “Seriously? You’re _barely_ an inch taller than me.”

_I wonder if he’ll grow more now that I’m not siphoning off his energy? Or maybe he’ll stay fun-sized forever…_

“What on earth is going on here?” At the loud, authoritative voice from the doorway, everyone jumps, startled. Tim gasps and Dick wraps his arms protectively around him again as they look over to see—Bruce Wayne. The man looks furious, but as he takes in Dick’s current animated, obviously awake state, the anger drains from his face. “Dick?” he whispers, taking a tentative step forward.

It’s so strange, finally being able to talk to him. After all the hours he’s spent following this man around as Batman, and listening to him pour his heart out here in this hospital room, Dick feels like he knows him. He’s still a little nervous, though.

_Well, if it turns out he doesn’t like me once we get to know each other, I can always just go bug Tim. I’ll be living right next door, after all._

Dick smiles at Bruce, and disengages one of his arms from Tim so he can wave at the man who is still staring at him, stunned expression slowly giving way to relief and joy. “Hey, Bruce. Sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Janet, staring at her eccentric professor friend after wordy explanation:** “So wait—we literally just need to kiss them awake?”  
>  **Professor friend:** “Lol yep!” *Chugs some kombucha* “Wait where are you going?”  
> *  
>  **Tim, biting his lip:** “Here goes nothing!” *Kisses Dick’s forehead, blushes when nothing happens. Furtively kisses Dick’s lips*  
>  **Dick, waking up:** “Yay! I’m alive! Also, damn you’re a good kisser”  
>  **Bruce, opening the door just in time to overhear that line:** “The FUCK—”


	6. Chapter 6

“So this is the Batcave, huh?” Tim looks around, trying not to show how incredibly excited he is right now. By the amused expressions Mr. Wayne and Mr. Pennyworth are wearing, he isn’t doing a great job. Whatever, he’s a thirteen year old kid in the _Batcave—_ no one’s going to be shocked if he nerds out a little.

Besides, Dick is just as excited at finally being allowed to take him down here. “Check out the hall of trophies, Timmy! There are some pretty awesome things over here!” The acrobat vaults over a rocky outcrop and disappears. Tim gives the Batcomputer a final look of longing, then follows him.

There’s no way they’re going to let him look at the computer. After all, part of the reason it took so long to get permission for him to come down here was Batman figuring out he’d once tried to hack into it. 

Having everything out in the open has been great, in most ways. It was a relief when it all came out in the hospital room—Dick having been a ghost all those years, the boys helping Batman solve the Graysons’ case, and their subsequent efforts to assist him with his other cases. Mom wasn’t even surprised about Bruce Wayne being Batman. “Ghosts told me,” she’d explained with a shrug. “Of course I never revealed the truth to anyone. Batman does a great deal of good.” Jack had looked startled at the revelation, but accepted it as he has so many other outlandish things over the years. He’d never have lasted in a relationship with Janet Drake if he didn’t have an open, adaptable mind. 

What wasn’t so great was Tim being grounded for circumventing his mom’s edict to stay out of solving Dick’s murder. Also, it took Bruce Wayne all of thirty seconds to connect the dots and realize Tim was the would-be hacker who had recently tried to access the Batcomputer.

So, this is the first time he’s been allowed down here. He isn’t going to mess it up.

“These trophies are amazing. Can you show me where you practice? Where’s the costume? Can I see it?” Tim wants to ask about every single trophy on display here, but he wants to see Dick in his new costume even more. 

Grinning, Dick spins on his heel and then takes off in another direction, literally bouncing off the walls as he goes. It feels just like old times for a moment, except the impacts his hands and feet make on the stone walls are audible, and he doesn’t sink partially into the walls on occasion.

_ Wow, I’m actually a little nostalgic. Only, I think it’s more that I miss having Dick around all the time as opposed to missing him being a ghost. _

It’s taken some getting used to, having to call or text to talk, and only seeing each other during normal, socially acceptable visiting hours. The first few days were especially difficult because Dick had to stay at the hospital until the doctors finally admitted his miraculous full recovery didn’t seem like it would wear off any time soon. It was really hard to go home without him. It helped that Tim’s parents stayed around, though, postponing their travels for the entire first month after Jack and Dick woke up. Their support really helped him get used to missing his friend’s constant presence. 

The past three months have gradually gotten better, as his parents and Mr. Wayne slowly worked out an arrangement. Now, Dick spends most days at Tim’s house after school if his parents are home. When they aren’t, Tim gets to stay at Wayne Manor. It’s like shared custody, and his dad almost cried when Mr. Wayne suggested it. “Thank you, Bruce,” he’d said, blinking back tears and beaming. “He’s our boy too, you know.” He’d reached out and pulled both Tim and Dick in for a crushing, wonderful hug then. “I still can’t believe I can hug both my boys—!”

Yeah, it’s been good. Really good. 

“So, what do you think? I’m calling myself Robin.” Dick’s happy, excited voice draws Tim’s attention back to him, and… 

“Wow,” Tim whispers, blinking rapidly as he tries to take it all in. “It’s so—bright. I mean, it looks amazing! But… where are the pants?” He can’t quite tear his gaze away from Dick’s bare legs, visible beneath the—his eyes widen. “Are those _panties?”_

Dick makes a face. “You, Bruce, Alfred—you’re all the same! ‘It’s too colorful, Dick, it’s like you’re wearing a target. Where are the pants, Dick, are you _trying_ to attract pedophiles?’ No one here appreciates a good costume!” He makes a face and folds his arms across his chest, scowling.

It’s impossible to resist breaking into peals of laughter. “Ew, no! I wasn’t thinking about _that,_ just that leaving your legs exposed might get them scratched or stabbed or something.”

Dick shrugs, looking philosophical. “Well, I’ll probably come up with a different costume by the time I’m sixteen and Bruce actually lets me go in the field again. This one’s just for training and stuff.”

“True.” Tim tilts his head, considering. His parents and Mr. Wayne had, unfortunately, been unanimous on that front. As soon as they found out about the boys sneaking out to investigate crimes, they’d instantly united in their stance against it, at least until their sixteenth birthdays. They didn’t think much of the boys’ arguments about Dick’s years as a ghost counting towards hs age, so he has to wait just as long as Tim. 

Technically, Dick _should_ turn sixteen next year. But, since his body is physically twelve and he’s only had twelve years of living existence, Mr. Wayne pulled some strings and had his age adjusted on his birth certificate and all his official documents. Apparently that kind of thing is easy enough to pull off when you’re both wealthy and Batman. 

It makes sense, really. Dick hasn’t actually changed much over the years he was a ghost. Mom says ghosts don’t really mature or grow up, so it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to suddenly act older now that he’s back in his body. At least it means he and Dick can go to the same school next year. Tim’s more than willing to try public school instead of the independent study he’s done all his life if it means he can spend more time with his friend. 

“I guess they have a point,” he says after a moment, trying to consider the adults’ viewpoint as logically as he can. 

“Yeah?” Dick says, looking unconvinced.

“You’re not a ghost anymore, so you’re vulnerable to a lot of stuff that wouldn’t have hurt you before.” Looking down, he whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do if you died again.” To his horror, his voice cracks.

“Aw, Timmy.” Dick’s voice is unbearably gentle, as are his arms when he gathers Tim in for a hug. “I’m not leaving you. Even if I do turn into a ghost again someday, I’m totally going to haunt you,” he says earnestly, clearly convinced he’s being comforting. “Guess you're just stuck with me.” He smiles winningly. 

Tim sniffs, then laughs wetly. “That’s more reassuring than it probably should be.” He sighs, relaxing into the still-surprising warmth of Dick’s embrace. It feels so different from before. Yet, in the most important ways, it somehow feels exactly the same. Safe.

The memory of their kiss passes through his mind, causing his cheeks to heat. They’d agreed to wait until later to talk about that, both of them too embarrassed and overwhelmed to go into it right then. There’s been so much happening, so many changes, and they haven’t had much time alone together since Dick’s return to life. Mr. Wayne or Alfred or one of Tim’s parents always seems to be around, and he’s starting to wonder if that’s on purpose. 

_ Geez, it’s not like we’re just going to start kissing the minute their backs are turned. But I guess they don’t know that, and maybe they’re not quite sure how to handle… us. I mean, that makes sense. I’m not really sure what I’m doing, either. Maybe we should figure that out? _

“Hey, Dick?” Tim whispers, hiding his face in the other boy’s neck. “When we’re older…” He swallows, trying to work up the courage to finish. “You wanna maybe try kissing again?”

He doesn’t even have time to start panicking or verbally backtracking. Dick’s response is nearly instantaneous. “Yes.” The arms around him tighten and he feels a soft kiss being pressed to his hair. “Definitely, yes.”

He knows they’re not ready for anything yet, not really. They’re too young, and they both have a lot more growing up to do first. But it still feels really nice to know Dick wants to maybe try kissing him again, someday. He can’t quite get what feels like a very goofy grin off his face. 

The fact that they finally talked about it makes him feel weird—embarrassed, and kind of awesome at the same time. After that conversation, they can’t seem to meet each other’s eyes without blushing and then looking away, grinning. Mr. Wayne raises an eyebrow at them when they come back to the main cave, and Alfred looks even wiser and more knowing than usual before he shakes his head tolerantly and heads upstairs, probably to start getting lunch ready.

None of that stops Tim’s heart from doing a giddy dance in his chest whenever he thinks about it.

They’re young, and it’ll definitely be a while before they even try kissing again, but… 

He’s really looking forward to it. 

Meanwhile, they’ve got a whole Batcave to explore. Also, a Batman to convince to let them use his computer so that they can still help him, even if he keeps them off the streets for their own good. Tim’s parents are going to be back in a few weeks and stay for a whole month this time, which will be great. His perpetual exhaustion is finally gone, too, and he grew an entire inch in the last three months. Of course, Dick grew an inch and a half over the same time period, but that’s okay. 

Things are looking pretty darn good, overall. 

“Hey, Dick,” he says, tilting his head in thought. “You think you can help me design a costume, too?” If Dick’s going to get to have training over the next four years to prepare him to be a vigilante when he turns sixteen, then so should he. After all, he’s got to be ready to back him up. “And maybe help me think of a name for myself.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Dick says, smiling. “You’ll be Raven, obviously. It’s a bird, so we’ll match, and ravens are associated with the dead, and lost souls. It’s perfect for you!”

It really is. It also sounds way cooler than Robin, not that he’ll ever tell Dick that. “That’s awesome. Can my costume have pants, though?” They meet each other’s eyes, and start snickering. The awkwardness from before has almost worn off, which is good. It would be hard to spend the next however many years feeling so self conscious whenever he’s around his best friend just because they both admitted they have crushes on each other. 

“Fine, fine. You can have pants,” Dick allows, with an air of granting a huge concession. “And you’ll be on tech support, and of course you’ll have your clairvoyant skills. I’ll use my acrobatic prowess to protect you from bad guys—” He breaks off as Tim starts laughing out loud.

“What about _my_ self defense skills? By the time we’re sixteen, Batman will have taught both of us how to defend ourselves.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll protect each other from bad guys. Anyway, this is going to be awesome.” Grinning, Dick bounces on the balls of his feet in excitement. His flashy costume catches Tim’s eye again and makes him smile. 

_ Yeah, mine will definitely be black. Maybe some dark red. And I’ll help during the design phase for Dick’s next costume, make sure it’s less of a walking target. There’s no way we’re letting him on the streets in that thing the way it is now. _

He frowns, reminded again that they’re both grounded from joining Batman on patrol until they’re sixteen. They really can’t leave him without support for that long. He may not be aware of the details of the many ways they’ve helped him over the years, but there were far too many occasions their assistance made the difference between him solving a case, or being injured by the criminals he was trying to catch. Blinking, he smiles as an idea begins to take shape in his mind. 

“What’s that look on your face mean? Are you plotting something? Tim, tell me what you’re plotting!” Dick commands, edging closer, eyes sparkling. 

He shakes his head, blushing faintly. “It’s nothing—just, Mr. Wayne doesn’t know all the specific ways we’ve helped him in the field, right? Just that we’ve been around and followed him on patrol.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, nodding, but he still looks puzzled. “I don’t see how that helps us get out on the street sooner, though.”

“Oh, it won’t. I just want permission to be on comms so we can help run support from the Cave. You know, help with research, be another set of eyes, that kind of thing. I just realized—there’s a decent system of cameras in the city, but nothing like fully coverage. If we could set up cameras throughout the city, enough to provide reasonable coverage—”

“—we could pretty much duplicate what we used to do for him, from right here in the Cave,” Dick finishes, looking impressed. “Watch on the cameras, and just tell him when we see something. You can even see ghosts like that, so if we’re on comms we can just _tell_ him if the victim’s ghost is standing right there trying to tell him who the murderer is. None of that sleight of hand where I knocked a picture off his desk or slammed a door to make him look a certain direction of whatever.”

“Yes, that does sound more efficient,” a deep, infinitely amused sounding voice replies from immediately behind them. 

Both boys leap into the air, startled, then spin to see Batman standing _right there._

“Geez, don’t _do_ that!” Dick complains, but he’s smiling. He and Bruce have been getting along really well. 

Tim snorts. “It’s only fair, after all the times you startled me over the years while you were a ghost,” he mutters, suppressing a smile. He shakes his head, then glances back at Batman with a faintly guilty expression. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have overheard everything we just said, would you, Mr. B-Wayne?” He barely manages to swallow down the ‘Mr. Batman’ that tries to slip out. 

Batman just stares at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, before reaching up to push back the cowl. Bruce Wayne smiles down at them, looking tired but kind. “Call me Bruce, please. We’re practically family, after all.” He inhales slowly, then releases his breath in a quiet sigh, shaking his head. “I think your plans have some merit, boys. It wouldn’t hurt to have more support from the Cave, and I’m beginning to suspect I’d be best off allowing you to help me in ways I approve and can monitor. Otherwise, I’ll doubtless find you both endangering yourselves on the streets before too long, and that’s the last thing I want.”

They shift, looking guiltily at their feet. It’s… Yeah, that’s probably what would have ended up happening, eventually. They’re just too used to helping Batman. It would be impossible to stand aside and let him continue putting himself at risk alone. 

“So you’ll let us work in the Cave?” Dick grins, beginning to bounce again in his eagerness.

Bruce smiles, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Yes, son. You can both work and train in the Cave, and we’ll see about getting Tim’s camera network installed.”

Tim bites his lip, not quite ready to celebrate just yet. “My mom…” He’s not sure how Janet would react to him actually becoming a crime fighter. Even though he’d be using his gifts to help people, it would be in a very different capacity from what she’s devoted her life to doing. What if she doesn’t approve?

The man turns to look at him, brows rising, and then startles both boys by beginning to chuckle. “Your mother knows you very well, son. When I spoke with your parents about the probability of the two of you ending up in capes before the year was out, she gave me a message to give you, if and when the time came.”

_ They expected us to do this? They’ve already talked about it? Wow, parents can be scary sometimes.  _

Tim makes eye contact with Dick, who raises his brows, eyes wide with surprise. Looking back at Bruce, Tim swallows. “Uh, what did she say?” He doesn’t breathe as he waits for an answer. 

“She said to tell you she’s proud of you, Tim. That whatever way you choose to use your gifts, she knows you will do wonderful things and help people.” Bruce smiles at him kindly, and it’s stupid that his eyes are stinging now, hot tears rising for no reason at all. 

He sniffs, wishing he could hide his face, and then Dick’s right there, holding him just like he always does when Tim cries. “They’re happy tears,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

Dick rubs his back, shushing him softly. “That’s good,” he says, smiling, and squeezes him comfortingly. 

Bruce clears his throat, looking supremely uncomfortable at the sight of Tim’s tears. “I, ah—Alfred may need help with lunch,” he mutters, before turning and practically fleeing the Cave. 

Dick and Tim watch him go, brows raised in disbelief and amusement. “That is one awkward guy,” Dick says, shaking his head. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s really Batman.”

“He’s nice, though.” Tim smiles. 

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

“And we’re going to get to hang out in the Batcave and fight crime.” 

“Heck yeah!” Dick grins, leaning back, and wipes the tears off of Tim’s cheeks with his thumbs. Glancing over at the Batcomputer, unguarded now that both Batman and Alfred are both upstairs, he grins. “Wanna get started on planning that camera network of yours?”

“Oh, definitely.” Tim sniffs, wiping his eyes, then smiles, plans already spinning through his mind. Yeah, things are definitely looking up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Tim, wandering around Batcave for the first time, whispering:** “Wow” *Squeaks with joy when he sees Batcomputer, scampers away in terror when Batman crosses his arms and shakes his head, glaring at him*  
>  **Dick, grabbing Tim’s hand and pulling him away:** “C’mon, check out my new suit!” *Preens, showing Tim Robin costume*  
>  **Tim:** “I love it! Where are the pants? Not that I want you to wear pants! I mean…” *Buries his face in his hands, blushing*  
>  **Dick, laughing:** “It doesn’t have pants! Yours can if you want. We ARE making you a vigilante costume too, right?”  
>  **Bruce, looming out of darkness right behind them:** *Ignores their startled screams* “I suppose you will both need costumes and callsigns. But you will be operating safely from the Cave until you turn sixteen” *Disappears back into the shadows*  
>  **Dick and Tim, looking at each other:** “Yay!” *Scamper off to begin planning Tim’s new costume* “This is gonna be awesome!”  
> *  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos or commented, and many thanks to Salazarastark for running Dicktim Week! Also, thanks to the [Capes & Coffee Tim Drake discord server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn) for the sprints, betas and support while I was writing this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story, and thanks for reading!


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